


It's Not Unusual (To Be Loved By Anyone)

by unh0lyshr1eks



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Dancing, Light Drinking, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, post-trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 19:03:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19482070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unh0lyshr1eks/pseuds/unh0lyshr1eks
Summary: A day in the life of an angel and a demon.





	It's Not Unusual (To Be Loved By Anyone)

When Aziraphale called Crowley to set a lunch date, the demon thought nothing of it. This was something that the pair did often, though it was more often than not, spontaneous. An argument followed by a dinner invitation, or a detour on one of their strolls through the park. Only occasionally did one of them actively seek out the other for the purpose of lunch or dinner. This was the only unusual bit about it, really, and Crowley paid it no mind.

The restaurant chosen was small, tucked away on the opposite side of the city. It was one of those restaurants with a long history and a longer list of regulars, who all glanced up when the pair entered. Parts of the building resembled an odd cross between an American diner and a pub. The colors were dull and gray and the atmosphere was only really brightened at all when Aziraphale and Crowley walked in. They stood out like sore thumbs, which, admittedly, neither of them cared much about in that moment, for very different reasons. They were seated and, really, the only _particularly_ unusual part about the hour and forty-three minutes they spent sitting there was that Aziraphale barely touched his food. There was an odd look on his face much of the time and Crowley had to pause conversation to get the angel's attention no less than four times.

Each of those times went something like this:

"...so, really, the true crime in all of _that_ was the loss of the unicorn, right? I mean, sure, they weren't all that special in the first place, but-" He'd be talking about some stupid thing or another, and then, very suddenly, Crowley would trail off into silence, because that odd little look had reappeared on the angel's face. He wasn't sure if there was any way to describe it, because that wasn't an expression he'd ever seen before. At least, not on Aziraphale. It looked too stiff, too tense to be normal on Aziraphale, because even in times of great turmoil there was a constant softness to his features. It felt absent, now. 

"Something on your mind?" Crowley would ask casually, and Aziraphale would jolt to his senses, looking surprised. The softness reappeared, as if he'd just remembered it, and he'd smile.

"No, not really. What were you saying?"

See, Crowley wasn't stupid, despite what many might like to believe. He knew that what Aziraphale had just claimed (four separate times, no less) was a blatant lie, and he was half-tempted to pry, but that little smile would always draw his mind away from those concerns. He'd forget that something had felt off about Aziraphale at all, and he'd continue on as if nothing had disrupted him in the first place.

After the fourth pause, Aziraphale took the reins himself. He, very suddenly and in a bit of a shrill voice, said: "Why don't we go back to the bookshop? I've recently gotten some, er, new wine in and it's really too early in the day to go our separate ways, don't you think?" He sounded uncertain about this, namely the wine.

"Oh?" One of Crowley's eyebrows flew to the ceiling. "Don't you wanna finish... that?" He wasn't sure what 'that' was. He hadn't paid attention to it when Aziraphale ordered, and he wasn't going to ask, now. It certainly looked interesting; it was a bit out of line with the angel's usual tastes.

"No, no, I _am_ stuffed, really. Come along!" He stood very abruptly and nearly toppled the entire table in his haste, and then scurried right out. Crowley sat there, in some degree of shock, for a few moments, before jumping to his senses and running after him. He tossed some money on the table as he went, despite the fact that only one plate was empty.

Aziraphale seemed to be surprised when Crowley caught up with him in the Bentley, a tad out of breath, and asked why he'd started walking when the bookshop was something of an hour's walk from there? Once again, the angel looked bewildered, and then his face turned beet-red.

"I- I suppose I forgot," was all he said, and then climbed into the passenger seat. 

Crowley was getting fed up, but he still didn't say anything about the angel's odd behavior. He'd already asked about it four times, after all, and if his friend was so inclined to keep it a secret, so be it, then! 

The pair entered the bookshop and walked to the back room, (Crowley lingered behind to take in the front room of the shop until Aziraphale called back for him). Aziraphale had two glasses poured by the time Crowley caught up to him, and for a while, everything was normal. Aziraphale grew tipsy much faster than normal, and the two of them talked of anything and everything until they were equally red in the face and had lost most ability to perform coherent speech.

The evening turned on his side when Aziraphale asked a very unusual question. 

"Would you like to dance, Crowley?"

Crowley guffawed. "What? Oh, angel, you _are_ drunk."

"I am not!" Aziraphale protested, flustered. "I... It's just a question, Crowley, there's no need to make fun."

There were a few more chuckles from Crowley's end, before he finally leaned back against the back of the old couch and let out one more breath. It was quiet for several moments.

"Were you being serious?"

Aziraphale, once again, seemed very flustered. "Of course I was! Why wouldn't I?"

"We don't usually dance."

"Oh." A dumbfounded silence. "Odd."

"Odd?" 

"I mean-- odd that we haven't danced, ever. I feel that after all the time we've spent together, it should've happened already," Aziraphale said quickly.

"Hm." Crowley wasn't relaxed anymore. He wasn't sure how exactly he was supposed to respond to that, so he didn't. He just pointedly stared at the ceiling and ignored the tightness in his chest.

The couch cushions on the other side shifted and Crowley's eyes moved from the ceiling when his peripherals caught something move in front of him.

Since when had a record been playing? And since when did Aziraphale own _this_ record?

"Well?" Aziraphale's voice had grown gentle, but there was an edge to it that Crowley couldn't quite place. His hand was extended. Crowley's heart had begun to pound and he couldn't figure out what emotion was causing it. 

Against his better judgement, he took Aziraphale's hand.

The music was upbeat, it was jazzy, and Crowley would've normally made some snide comment about it, but his lips felt glued together. He pursed them, instead. He wasn't at all surprised at Aziraphale's dancing _skill_ , which wasn't very existent. Though his grip on the demon was gentle, as always, his movements were jerky and uncertain and it seemed he couldn't decide where to put his feet down. Crowley didn't mind this in the slightest, because his brain was too busy short-circuiting to do so. The first song ended, the second began, and things began to feel more natural. Crowley's lips unglued themselves.

"What's wrong?" he asked, very much out of nowhere, in a bit of a dazed voice.

"Pardon?"

"You've been off today. There's something going on," Crowley explained, and gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "What is it?"

"Oh, well," Aziraphale sighed in a way that Crowley could only describe as a little dramatic, "I suppose there is something, Crawley." Crowley's heart stopped for several seconds, and the redness disappeared from his cheeks as he blanched.

"What did you say?" he breathed.

"Hm? Oh, just that I do think you're right. There is something going on, and I suppose it is only right that I tell you."

Had Aziraphale's grip gotten stronger?

"Gabriel contacted me a few days ago." The angel's voice was suddenly hard.

Crowley stiffened, and stopped moving. "What?" he demanded. "Why the hell didn't you tell me earlier? What-"

Aziraphale, unlike Crowley, hadn't stopped moving. He dragged Crowley along like it was no big deal, causing the demon to stumble a few times before he could fully catch up. 

"We talked about Armageddon, and what might've happened if it hadn't been stopped. We talked about... about sides, and loyalty, and-"

Crowley had blocked out Aziraphale's words at this point. He was focusing too hard on how he was _still_ being pulled along easily, how he kept tripping over his own feet far more than Aziraphale was, how Aziraphale's grip was very possibly _cutting off his circulation_ at this point.

"...you know, the normal stuff. He-"

"Aziraphale, stop." Crowley muttered. "Stop moving."

Aziraphale fell quiet, and did so after a couple of seconds. He let go, but immediately took Crowley's hands in his own in the same ironclad grip as before.

"He threatened you, Crowley. Did you hear me? He threatened your life."

"So you decided to leave me wondering what on Earth was wrong with you all day? They've been threatening us for a long time, now, I think I can handle it."

"You don't understand, Crowley."

Crowley didn't like the way Aziraphale said that. At first, he might've described the angel's tone as upset, but that wasn't the case. It wasn't distraught or angry or any real, strong emotion at all. It was void, it was empty. It was horrifying.

Suddenly, Aziraphale leaned in, and his arms were around Crowley. The demon was enveloped in a familiar, friendly warmth and he relaxed after several more long, tense moments. One of Aziraphale's arms shifted around him, and Crowley opened his mouth to say something. Anything.

He never got the chance.

Several minutes later, the angel straightened his coat and took a deep, sharp, but overall satisfied breath. He was irritated that this had taken so long, but who wouldn't be? He'd been meaning to check this off the list for decades, possibly centuries now. He turned his gaze to the demon, who was staring at him with a desperate gleam in his (now very much exposed) eyes. The glasses must've been knocked off at some point. The angel returned the look with a wide grin, and then turned his gaze away, back to the front room of the shop. With his free hand, he pressed a button on his phone and held it to his ear. With his other, he tucked the glowing shard of blessed metal into his coat.

There hadn't been anything particularly unusual about that day, he thought. Well, aside from the body change. That sure had taken some getting used to, but it had been necessary. Now, at least, they could get on with things. No more interruptions.

With barely a second glance towards the dying demon in the back room, Gabriel strode out of the bookshop and onto the busy London streets.

**Author's Note:**

> t'was inspired by a beautiful painting by @speremints on Instagram 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! (hehe)  
> This was my first proper fanfiction in--checks watch--about three or so years. This is barely edited and slightly proofread; I might go back and fix things up later on this week if I find the time! I really just had fun writing it, and I really wanna use it as a part of a segue back into real, proper writing again. Hey, who knows? I might even write another couple parts to this depending on things.
> 
> Edit: I changed the tagging. I apologize if I upset anyone too much with it—I feel absolutely awful knowing that I _did_ ; it was misleading for the intention of being shocking but I see now I didn’t put nearly enough thought into tagging this sensibly. I was having fun with it and didn’t think about it enough; and I 100% see how and why the ending was upsetting given the tagging. I will use more care in the future! Thank you to everyone who brought my attention to the issue :))


End file.
